The Disorder of Longing

by Natasha Bauman

Genres: Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

When her husband arrives home carrying a crate of colorful orchids, Ada Caswell Pryce thinks he is bringing her a gift, a peace offering during an unhappy time in their marriage; little does she know how much these strange looking flowers are going to change her life. 

By Boston standards of the 1890’s, Ada is not a good wife. Strong-willed and beautiful, she longs for the days at university when she was free to be herself. Her husband Edward is intent on curbing her wild behavior, but she thwarts him at every turn -- she drinks wine with the housekeepers, gives feminist books to her maid, and sneaks out for midnight horseback rides along the Charles River. 

To treat Ada’s “hysteria,” Edward restricts her daily activities and her relationships, then carefully choreographs her sexuality. Unable to bear another day of her stultifying and demeaning existence, Ada secretly plots ways to leave. Ultimately, it is her husband’s all-consuming passion for collecting rare orchids that provides Ada with a daring opportunity for escape. 

Once free, Ada’s lust for adventure takes her through the dangerous slums of New York, across the high seas of the Atlantic, and finally deep into the lush jungles of Brazil.

Release date: June 12, 2008

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Print pages: 432

Sample

Table of Contents

 

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

 

PART ONE

The STATE of the ATMOSPHERE

ETHICS of MARRIAGE

TERRESTRIALS and EPIPHYTALS

The THOUSAND EYES

I’LL TAKE YOU HOME AGAIN

SHADOW DANCING

USE and DISUSE of PARTS

The SECRET WORLD of MEN

A FROZEN QUEEN

CROSSING BOUNDARIES

AFTER the PLAY

ORCHID CULTURE

The WORLD of MATTER

The ERRATIC WOMB

The PERFECTIONISTS

GENESIS

MORTIFICATION and DISHABILLE

MERCURIAL WANDERINGS

The LABYRINTH

 

PART TWO

The NEW MAN

WRITTEN in WATER

WATERLOGGED

SOUTHERN SKIES

The BAY of ALL SAINTS

PEREGRINATIONS

The QUALITY of the MOON

The REVEALED ORIXA

CRIMSON-LIPPED LABELLUM

VICTORIAN SPLENDOR

The RETURN to AWAY

 

Acknowledgements

A NOTE ON TYPE

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group
(Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson
Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland,
25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia),
250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia
Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, II Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi-110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd,
24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

 

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

Copyright © 2008 by Natasha Bauman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic
form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation
of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Published simultaneously in Canada

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Bauman, Natasha.
The disorder of longing : a novel / Natasha Bauman.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-01496-7

1. Boston (Mass.)—History—19th century—Fiction. 2. Brazil—Fiction.
3. Self-realization—Fiction. 4. Sex—Religious aspects—Tantrism—Fiction. I.Title.
PS3602.A96274D
813’.6—dc22

 

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the
time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes
that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

For my mother, Doreen Bauman
And in memory of my father, James Bauman,
and my aunt, Lorrie Tussman

PART ONE

A hysterical woman is a pitiful and unfortunate object . . . capricious in character, whimsical in conduct, excitable, impatient, obstinate, and frivolous—a regular Gordian knot for friends and physicians to unravel. She possesses a most variable and imaginative disposition, which, in spite of all that can be done, keeps her in a continued whirl of excitement from morning until night.

 

 

—DR. CHARLES P. UHLE, Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1870

The STATE of the ATMOSPHERE

It was officially spring, yet the sun had been stingy, staying hidden away for weeks. On this morning, though, a sudden change in the weather woke Ada Pryce from a sound sleep. She rose from her bed and leaned out the window, allowing the sun to tickle her face and neck. Her room felt dank and close in contrast to the outdoors. The urgent need to be outside in the thick of this ripping day overtook her, so she pulled a cornflower blue wool walking suit from her armoire and dressed hurriedly, taking little care as she pinned her thick copper hair under a feathered hat.

It was the sun’s fault, she told herself, the sun was the reason she was about to commit an unforgivable offense.

Mercifully, none of the house staff saw her as she made her way quietly down the front stairs, through the long hallway, across the octagonal foyer, and out the door. The three-story stone house cast a long shadow, preventing the sun from touching her. Her skirts snapped against her boots as she walked over the brick sidewalk along Marlborough, then stepped onto the cobblestone street, where at last she felt the full warmth of the morning sun. Once she stood in its glow, she found it impossible to turn back to the house. She crossed the street quickly, almost leaping over the horse droppings that had not yet been picked up by the men hired to keep her street clean, and headed toward Commonwealth Avenue. On reaching the Avenue Mall, she turned left toward the Public Gardens. It was a Thursday morning, and the streets of Boston were busy with carriages, horses, vendors, and men hurrying on foot to their workplaces. Ada was energized by the activity, so that her feet moved in a merry tempo, her heels clicking against the bricks in a tapping rhythm that pleased her. At the entrance to the Gardens, she felt the tension in her shoulders dissipate. She stifled the urge to laugh out loud. She had made her escape.

Governesses were already out with their tiny charges; they gathered forces with other governesses, their hordes of children forming large circles of ecstatic play around the pond, while the women watched and gossiped. A few younger men walked quickly through the park, headed somewhere, while older men strolled with one another, meeting to discuss their past accomplishments, no doubt. Then there were other men, of all ages, who seemed to be in the park because they had no purpose, nothing more important to do with their day. In spite of the perfect weather, many of these people looked forlorn.

Ada sat on an empty bench. At first she held her back straight, but soon her spine settled against the bench, relaxing into the support it offered her. The purposeless and shabby few who walked past were the ones who drew her eye. As she watched them, she tried to imagine what their lives might be. Were they alone in the world, living in a small room, at times going hungry? Had some horrible tragedy brought them so low, were they drug fiends or had they committed some other awful offense?

Suddenly, a blister of activity erupted behind her. Turning her body to face the back of the bench, she saw a group of cyclists coming along the dirt path. As they pulled closer, their bloomers and knickerbockers came into focus. It was a band of women, laughing excitedly as they gained speed on the downside of a slight hill, their tires crunching across the dirt. The governesses pulled the children in close, moving them away from the possible threat the wild riders posed. The governesses’ bonneted heads tilted as they whispered behind the fingers of their gloved hands, surely appalled by these probable suffragists. What other sort of woman would get dressed up in such unfeminine vestment and dare to part her legs in order to straddle the seat of a bicycle?

Ada jumped up from her bench and moved toward the path. The women slowed down, yelping and laughing in delight, eventually coming to a stop not far from Ada. She walked toward them, drawn by the frenzy of joy that hovered about them, and by the wonderful contraptions they rode. She felt her nerve ends opening, blossoming with the thrill of this event. It must be a cycling school. She had heard this was a new rage among the more daring women. They were in love with the freedom offered them when they cycled. Ada wanted to be near them, to ask them what it felt like to ride a bicycle.

She drew closer to the women, stepping into their open circle. “ Good morning,” she said, and was surprised to hear her voice tremble as she spoke. The women smiled at her, bidding her good morning in return. But before Ada could ask them how they came to ride these bikes here, what class they belonged to, how she might join, out of the corner of her eye she saw a woman running along the edge of the pond, her arms raised in a wild salute, tracing a flurry of motion against the backdrop of the still water. Her simple striped dress and white bonnet clearly announced her status as a member of the serving class. As she ran and waved, it became apparent that she was headed straight for Ada, that it was Ada’s attention she wanted.

The young woman came up closer, and Ada saw then that it was her own lady’s maid, Katie. “ Mrs. Pryce. Oh, thank the good Lord.”

She pulled Ada away from the cyclists, and they collapsed on the bench together. Katie was out of breath, her blond curls springing out from under her white cap, her smooth young face shiny with sweat. Her voice rose and fell with the melody of Irish as she spoke. “Edith saw you cross the street as she was coming back from the market, and ever since we have been running about ever so madly trying to find you.”

Ada reached out to pat her maid’s hand, and in that moment, the riders got back onto their bikes and rode away, one after another, the gravel flying out from their balloon tires as they sailed away, waving to Ada as they went. It seemed possible to Ada that they were headed directly for the surface of the sun with all the freedom their wheels gave them. She turned reluctantly away from the cyclists as their figures receded. “ I’m fine, Katie,” she said. “ What on earth is all the fuss about?”

“Well, ma’am.” She stared at Ada, as if the answer were obvious and needn’t be said aloud. But Ada tilted her head, waiting for Katie to continue. “ You left the house all on your own, without a word to a soul. Edith told me and Mary, and then of course Ettie heard, and she insisted I was to find you straightaway. So I ran in the direction Edith said you were gone. I was behind you on the Mall, but I lost you when you came into the Gardens.”

“But why couldn’t you have let me be?”

All the kinetic energy that had been driving Katie suddenly seemed to drain from her. “Let you be?” She didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“Sometimes I just want to go for a walk, all on my own,” Ada said.

“Oh, dear me,” Katie said.

As they walked back to the house together, Ada took Katie’s arm, pulling her back. “I don’t care if they’re worried. I am going to enjoy the clear skies while I’m out here with no other purpose but to enjoy them. Walk slowly with me, please?”

Katie stopped, and the two women faced each other where they stood at the edge of the park. “ You know I will come walking with you anytime you please, Ada.” Ada encouraged this familiarity between herself and her maid, though it caused some discomfort for Katie. But now Katie said her mistress’s first name with assuredness, as if she were speaking to her child.

It made Ada smile. “Of course you will, Katie. And thank you. But sometimes I just get the urge to walk down the Mall by myself. It’s very different, you know, the feeling one gets when one walks entirely alone.” Ada knew Katie walked by herself frequently, and that she probably rather wouldn’t. But Katie didn’t know what it was like never to be allowed to be on one’s own simply because of one’s station and sex. It was, in Ada’s opinion, simply ridiculous.

When they turned the corner onto Marlborough, and the Ruskin Gothic house in which she lived came into view, Ada’s breathing became more constricted. The sun shone now on the cream-colored Nova Scotia sandstone facade. She could feel the heat emanating from the stone as they climbed the steps, but it didn’t warm her. The instant they were inside the foyer, the entire house staff appeared there, save George. The short and wispy young Edith, the more substantial but equally young Mary, and the older, sterner Ettie all fluttered about them, asking Ada over and over if everything was all right, if there was anything they could do for her. Ada smiled and thanked them, but shooed them away. She took herself up the front stairs and to her bedroom on the second floor. The clock on her dresser read five minutes after ten. The most exciting event of her day had lasted less than fifty-five minutes.

 

 

 

DINNER THAT EVENING, taken alone at the long ebony dining table, her back to the matching carved ebony-encased fireplace, made Ada wish she were supping with the bicycle club members. In front of her, on the other side of the expansive room, was an alcove inlaid with stained glass. Whenever Edward, her husband of four years, was at home, Ettie lit a lamp on the other side of the alcove, and bands of colored light danced across the dining room. But Edward had taken to dining at the Club recently, and when he was out, the lamp did not burn. Dining away from home had become such a habit with him that he occasionally failed to inform Ada whether he would dine at home or not. She expected to be alone.

Katie appeared at the table to pick up Ada’s last dishes. “Thank you so much, Katie,” Ada said. “Please tell Ettie it was delicious.”

“Of course. She’ll be pleased to know you liked it.” Ada never failed to compliment Ettie, even though she knew the cook was only happy when Edward ate her food. It was a wasted meal if the man of the house wasn’t there to judge and offer approval.

“Katie, tell me something,” Ada said.

Katie stood next to the table, gripping the dirty dishes. “Certainly.”

“Does George know about my escape this morning?”

Katie blinked twice before she answered. “I am afraid Ettie told him, ma’am.”

“I see. Thank you, then. I’ll be in my office if Edward returns in the next hour.”

 

 

 

BY THE TIME Edward came home, the mild weather had taken a drastic turn, unnerving Ada. The sun had removed itself again, and a storm brewed. A spring electrical storm was nothing extraordinary. The sudden graying of the skies over Boston, the whinnying of horses and barking of dogs, the pressing down of the atmosphere, all were occurrences common enough to cause nothing more than simple, instinctive responses. But Ada imagined the turn in the weather to be a punishment for her morning perambulations. The electrical charges seemed to course up through the soles of her feet, spread throughout her body’s tributaries, then emerge out the top of her skull like the clean upthrust of a knife. She left her office and went downstairs, hoping the activity would soothe her. Just as she stepped into the front hallway, holding on to her head in an effort to keep it of a piece, Edward appeared in the foyer.

He shook off his wet umbrella and peeled himself out of his raincoat with the help of his man, George, who had reached him before Ada was able to move an inch. George always moved more quickly than any middle-aged and overweight man should, Ada thought. It wasn’t until Edward stepped into the hallway and walked toward her where she stood now in front of the parlor door that she noticed he was carrying something. He held a wooden box in front of him, out of the top of which poked spots of color. The spots bounced with Edward’s stride. His footsteps echoed across the parquet floor, then silenced when he stepped onto the Chinese wool runner. Ada waited, motionless. Her brain was unable to put the bits of color into a recognizable form until Edward reached her and extended the box. He leaned toward her over his load, a grin spreading out across his face.

The box contained half a dozen orchids, none the same. One had delicate petals of yellow with orange spots, another large pink petals, one was purple, one red, one brown with white, and another vivid orange with burgundy streaks. The petals and sepals were all of different shapes, and in assorted arrangements. The leaves varied from pale to deep green, from long and pointed to round and rubbery. What they all had in common was simply this: not one of them was lovely. Each one of them was rangy, spindly, lacking in the pleasing qualities that constitute true beauty. Their necks were long and skinny, their florescences somehow too hard. If Edward had brought these home for her, she wouldn’t want to disappoint him by not seeming overjoyed at the gift. Ada turned her gaze up from the flowers and looked at her husband’s face, steeling herself for her performance.

There was something of the sublime in the look he wore as he continued to gaze on the orchids. He seemed so happy to have brought these plants home. She knew then that the flowers were not for her. They were Edward’s own conquest. Ada was relieved that the orchids had caused a distraction, and that they had nothing to do with her. Everyone gathered around as Edward showed his flowers to them all.

“I must congratulate you, sir,” George said to Edward. “You have, I trust, managed to find the best, as you always do.”

Edward laughed and clapped his man on the back. “ You know me well, don’t you?” George reached out his arms, and Edward gave the box over to his man’s keeping. George certainly wouldn’t bother Edward with the story of Ada’s solitary walk just now. But it would be only a temporary reprieve. Ada knew that, as soon as the time was right, he would relay the story to his master. And surely Edward would demand to know why his pampered wife had had reason to walk by herself to the Public Gardens, putting herself at risk without anyone along to protect her or go for help should something horrid happen. For now, though, he was happy with his orchids, and there was no mention of Ada’s earlier misbehavior.

“I need to take care of these beauties,” Edward told her. “ Excuse me.”

Ada went to the kitchen to check on final preparations for the next day’s meals, but before she was able to speak with Ettie, a commotion echoed from the foyer. Back in the hallway, she saw Franz Locke, a partner from Edward’s firm, and three strange men. For an instant, they all stood in front of the open front door as lightning flashed across the sky behind them, turning them briefly to silhouettes. Then the door was closed, and the men became flesh again. Franz, to Ada, was just another one of the men from Edward’s law firm and club, one of the many men who had so much to say to her husband, and yet so little to say to her. But the three strangers were like no one she had ever seen before. Their clothing was coarse and seemed sun worn, as if they did some sort of physical labor in the clothes they wore. Their hair was not cut finely, nor were their faces clean shaven.

These men’s voices triggered a thrill of familiarity in her, warming her spine and drawing her toward them. They filled the wide hallway with a largeness and energy that so delighted her, it took her a moment to register that one of the men was white, another was an African, and the third a dark-skinned man whose race was indecipherable to Ada.

Finally, Edward noticed her standing there and stopped to introduce her to the men. William Parrish was the African, Walter Kebble the white man, and from his name, she imagined that Jao da Cunha, the third man, no doubt was Brazilian. They smiled at her, tipping their rumpled hats, all of them greeting her at once, their voices bouncing off the wood paneling. “ I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said to them, addressing them as formally as she would any of her society acquaintances. She reached out her hand and, one by one, they shook it. Her crisp crinoline skirts and the rigid bodice of her waistcoat, with its turnover collar, all seemed overdone next to the relaxed attire of these comfortable men. Her fingers tugged at her collar as she tried to think of something to say that would draw them into conversation.

“You have a lovely home,” Walter said. “We promise we’ll do our best not to spoil it with our coarseness.” His face seemed serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

Ada smiled at him and the others. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Before anyone was tempted to take the conversation further, Edward piloted the men toward his office. As they passed by her, they ruffled the air, stirring up a scent redolent of the jungle, of the open air in the dead of night, of unnamed places and unidentified species, of undiscovered natural wonders.

“Good night, then, my dear,” Edward said. As he lingered in front of the open pocket doors, she could see the box of orchids behind him on the cabochon-cut malachite inlaid oak table. It would have been natural for her to be worried about the table with the ragged box placed there, but Ada wanted to ask him something about the plants. Edward saw her trying to formulate a question, and smiled at her, believing he knew what she was about to ask. “ Don’t worry. I’ll move them. The table will be fine.” He reached out and patted her hand. Though he exerted no undue pressure, the gesture suggested that he was pushing her away. “Sleep well.” As he pulled the pocket door out of its space in the wall, the orchid hunters bade her good night.

“Good night,” she called back to them. Did her voice sound too emotional, did it hint at her sense of abandonment? Just before the door touched the wall, Ada saw Edward watching her. His brow was furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners. The scent of the men lingered there; Ada breathed it in in an effort to fill up on it. She stood outside the office, listening to their rich voices and their quick laughter, not realizing or caring then that this was the first time non-whites had ever crossed the threshold of her front door and entered a room not reserved for the use of servants. She would have been happy to stay there all evening, but fear of being discovered spying on them finally sent her away.

 

 

 

UPSTAIRS IN HER ROOM, Ada dressed herself in her peach silk nightdress and settled into the thickness of her bed linens with Pride and Prejudice. But she found herself turning the pages of the book without remembering anything she had read. The multiple ribbons of her gown scratched at her neck, distracting her from the words on the page. Occasionally, the men’s voices, or their sudden laughter, drifted up from the floor below. The rain tapping on the window, together with the distant sound of the men’s voices, made her feel a loneliness that reminded her of all the hours of her childhood she had spent alone in her nursery while her parents entertained guests downstairs. She untied the ribbons and opened the high neck of her nightdress. Now that she was no longer a child, why couldn’t she walk on her own in the park, and why shouldn’t she be down there, in Edward’s office, sharing in the exotic discussion the men were no doubt immersed in at this moment? She hadn’t chosen to grow into a woman; why should she be punished for it?

She couldn’t read, but neither could she sleep. Instead, she paced her room in her bare feet, feeling the difference between the silk carpet and the peg and groove wood on the soles of her feet, occupying herself with this trivial sensuality to keep from screaming out loud. Later, when his guests had gone, and Ada heard Edward on the landing near her door, she stopped where she stood, bracing herself, gripping the carpet with her toes as she waited for him to come in and reprimand her. Certainly George had told him the story of her escape by now. She tied the ribbons of her gown quickly, pulling them tightly across her neck lest Edward should see them undone and reprimand her for that, too. Sweat gathered on her upper lip as she waited for her door to creak open.

After a moment, Ada heard her husband open and then close his own bedroom door. When he stopped moving about his room, and the whole house became silent, she blew out her lamp and slipped down under her counterpane, certain she would sleep finally. Instead, she tossed across the length and width of her mattress, flipping from front to back, side to side. She thought of the cyclists in the park, in their bloomers. And she thought of the rough men there, in her own home. What did they talk about in that room, without her? Why were men always so secretive about the things they discussed in the rooms they occupied away from women?

Finally, the rain ceased. She slipped from her bed and walked to her window.

Throwing back the maroon brocade curtains, she leaned her head against the glass. It chilled her skin, causing bumps to rise up along her head and down her neck. Her window looked onto the small garden and out to the carriage house. In the darkness, the garden’s color was erased, it was nothing but shades of gray and black. But suddenly, a thin wedge of light brought smudges of color to the wet yard. Ada’s eyes followed the light to its source. The carriage house. What was the stable man doing in there so late?

Whatever might be amiss in the carriage house was no business of hers. It must have been the lingering restiveness that caused her to walk downstairs and out the back door without thinking about why she did it. Dressed only in her slippers and nightdress, she trod across the rain-slicked garden path. A breeze lifted off the river, chilling her. She stopped and looked up. Ada listened to the stars; they were so bright she almost believed she could hear them crackling as they glittered above her.

A surprising, submerged moan cut across the landscape of twinkling sound, like the hum of a Gregorian chant. As she moved closer, she recognized the cause of the uneven groan. Ada cocked her head, listening for a repetition. It came again, this time even more guttural. She followed the voice; it led her to the carriage house and the bit of light that shimmered across the garden.

As she closed in on the building, the moan was joined by a deeper, clearly masculine-sounding grunt. Without taking another step, she knew that this must be Katie and Liam, the stable man. Liam was young, Irish like Katie, with a firm body and strong hands that were so different from Edward’s, or any of the men Ada had known. Ada was seized by the longing to watch them in the act. Though she understood this desire was irregular, and the awareness caused her a certain anxiety, she made no effort to censor herself.

She followed the thin beam of light to the closest window, but it was too high for her to see through. She found a metal basin nearby and carried it over to the window. Quietly stepping up onto the upended basin, she peeked into the corner of the window, and was surprised by the clear view she now had. Katie and Liam were in a stack of hay behind the carriage, completely naked, their clothes underneath them, protecting them from the sharp ends of the hay. The horses gave them no notice; apparently they were accustomed to the disturbance. The lovers lay facing each other, on their sides, Katie’s leg thrown up over Liam’s hip. Ada dropped her head quickly below the window frame, embarrassed, even out here, alone in the dark. But the continuing sighs held her there, incapable of leaving. When she regained her nerve and peeked in again, Katie was in the final surge of her crisis, her head thrown back, her mouth slack, her eyes wild. The light from the lantern flickered over her as her moans became rapid and high-pitched. Liam climaxed with her. Both of their faces, in the uneven light, seemed to jump back and forth between expressions of bliss and a sort of pure rage, as if the crisis induced something akin to agony.

Their breathing soon evened; as they began to quiet, Ada felt a growing panic at the thought of being discovered. She replaced the basin and hurried away from the stable, to the safety of the back porch. As she entered the quiet of her house, her own quick and uneven breathing echoed through the back hallway, sounding as loud as if she had been breathing into a megaphone. Back in her bed, under the